


Unexpected

by spuffyduds



Category: due South
Genre: 1000-3000 words, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-06 01:50:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffyduds/pseuds/spuffyduds





	Unexpected

We hadn't made any specific plans for the evening, but I am still a bit surprised not to find the GTO outside the consulate when my shift ends; that's been more or less a constant in recent weeks. I decide to walk over to the station; if Ray is running late I may catch him, and if not, well, I need the exercise.

When I come into the squad room most of the day shift has departed and I get some odd glances from strangers on the evening shift, but Lt. Welsh is still there; he waves me over, says, "Constable, Detective Vecchio is in Room 2, in his third hour of an interrogation which looks to be extremely productive. Before he went in, however, he told me, and I quote, 'If the freak shows up tell him to wait and we'll get dinner.'"

"Thank you, Leftenant," I say, and head into the one-way mirror room, to watch Ray in his element.

Ray is a pleasure to watch during an interrogation. If I'm honest with myself--and I _try_ to be--in recent weeks Ray has been more and more pleasurable to watch during...anything. Walking, talking, eating... It is a ridiculous pastime on my part that is growing dangerously near obsession, but I don't seem able to stop. I have, at least, been able to keep from burdening him with any knowledge of this--aberration.

And now he's circling the table where his suspect slumps. The man looks gray and exhausted, but Ray is wired, thumping the table on occasion, spinning suddenly to fire off another question, bouncing on his toes; he looks as if he might start _skipping_ at any second. I almost feel sorry for the suspect, until I can sort out from the muted sound coming through the wall that he has something to do with an extensive prostitution ring.

Ray makes beautiful use of his unpredictability, in these situations. He sits on the table for a bit, legs swinging, until the man leans back in his chair and relaxes a little, then jumps up, yelling his next question; when the man shoves his chair back, startled, Ray sits back down, smiling, talking quietly. Twice the man stands up, and twice Ray puts a hand gently on his shoulder, eases him back down.

The third time the suspect stands up, Ray is suddenly in his face and _advancing_, and herds him up against the wall. They can't be more than a couple of inches from each other, and the suspect is digging his heels into the floor as if he's trying to keep backing up _through_ the wall, and Ray is smiling beatifically, and, and he must be _breathing_ on the man at that distance, that utter lack of distance—

And to my surprise I am opening the door of Interrogation Room 2.

Ray spins around in surprise, says "Frase? A little busy here?" But I'm catching him by the sleeve and pulling him out, apologizing politely to the prostitution-ring-leader, locking the door.

I tug Ray into the mirror room so he can keep an eye on the suspect, at least. And then I have no idea what to say.

Ray leans against the wall, rubs his face; now that he's not "on-stage" he is letting some tiredness show, and confusion. "You trying to throw him off a little, Fraser?" he says. "Points for that, but I think I kinda had it under control, already. What's up?"

I stand near him because I can't bear not to, and open my mouth because I have to say _something_, and I hope it will be something inane about ordering dinner, but to my horror what I actually say is, "You shouldn't get so close to anybody else."

"What?" he says. He's blinking.

"Because--" my mind scrambles wildly for a reason--"a suspect could _attack_ you, if you don't keep a table between you. Could have a knife. Or--"

He laughs. "C'mon, Fraser, I could take that guy with--_everything_ tied behind my back. I could take _him_ with a headbutt. And you know we frisk for weapons before we--hey, you said 'else.'"

"What?" I say. I am feeling the first cold squirms of terror somewhere in my stomach. Ray, alone among all the people I have ever met, embodies that old trope of the lightbulb going on when an idea dawns. His eyes actually glitter when he sorts a problem through; physical impossibility though it is, I could swear they generate light. They are doing so now, and he's smiling. I should back away. I can't move.

"Else," he says. "You said, 'shouldn't get so close to anybody else.' Besides you, you mean?"

"Um," I say. Which is neither informative nor helpful in any way.

Ray reaches out, puts his hand on the side of my neck, curls his long warm fingers around the back of it. Dear God, I think he's going to kiss me, and my eyes close, waiting for the tug of his hand and the surprise of his lips.

He doesn't pull with that hand, doesn't bring me across the two-inch gulf between our mouths. He tightens that hand, holds my head steady where it is. The other hand grabs my hip and yanks, and my crotch is suddenly full-on against his, and there's no way for him to miss that I am fully, achingly hard.

I gasp, and he holds me there just for a second, just long enough for me to feel an answering twitch from him. Then eases me back into standing on my own.

"Good to know," he says, smiles at me hugely. He spares a glance through the window at the suspect, who has his head down on the table and is making strange noises. Possibly crying.

"I think I've got it about wrapped up with this guy," Ray says, very calmly, very normally, _how_? "You want to wait a little longer, I'll get him to sign a few things, we'll get out of here, okay?"

I cannot process the last few minutes. Ray unquestionably has, now, a large piece of information that I had been desperately hoarding, but seems...not to need to do anything with it.

Which is good, which is almost certainly the only way our partnership could survive. And I am, strangely, disappointed.

Then I realize that he still has that hand on my neck. And he runs his thumb up and down, gently; looks me full in the face with his glittering eyes and then casts his glance downward and smiles. "You might want to do something about that," he says. "Otherwise you'll only last a few seconds, when I suck you off."

He walks back into the interrogation room. I have to stand where I am for a few minutes, waiting for my knees to work well enough for me to make it to the bathroom.

 

\--END--


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